When the World Comes Undone
by wazlib88
Summary: Seven times Ron Weasley cried during the worst year of his life, and the reasons he kept on hoping. Ron-centric but with a very healthy dose of Ron/Hermione.


A/N: Hello all! This is a plot bunny I've had floating around in my head for awhile. Some of these moments were inspired by _Deathly Hallows_, while others are thoughts that have cropped up while working on my other fics, particularly _Firsts and Lasts _and _More than Books and Biscuits_. It's by no means necessary to read those in order to understand this, but if you feel so inclined I won't protest. :)

Just a warning—Ron's language isn't pristine in this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, although I'd love my own Ron Weasley if it can be arranged.

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_One._

He couldn't handle it. He just couldn't. Everything he'd ever feared, everything that had ever caused him to feel useless, everything that had made him the fucked up human being he was—it was all right there, in that stupid bloody locket. Thoughts were racing everywhere. Nothing, she'd said, _nothing_. That's all he was, that's all he'd ever been, but that's not what he wanted to be and he absolutely hated it. And then those horrible versions of them started kissing, and he truly couldn't take it anymore. He needed this torture to stop. He needed to hurt something as much as he was hurting. He needed to destroy something, so he did the only thing that made sense. He ran at the blasted piece of jewelry that had virtually destroyed everything he'd held most dear, and he stabbed it with all the strength he could muster. And then there was silence.

Ron stood in shock for a moment, his eyes watering, before his legs gave out; he dropped the sword as he sank to the ground and buried his head in his hands. The sobs were coming faster now, and he was powerless to stop them. He'd fucked it all up, hadn't he? The damn locket was just the catalyst. They'd meant everything to him, more than his own family, and he'd just left. Left, like the past six years had meant nothing. He couldn't stop shaking now. He hadn't cried like this since he was a child. He hadn't let himself after he'd left—he hadn't deserved it, but he couldn't stop himself now.

It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder that he remembered he wasn't alone. Then he heard Harry's voice, talking about Hermione and sisters and how things hadn't been the same—and something within him clicked. Harry was still here. Harry was still talking to him. Hermione wouldn't, he knew better than to wish for that—but maybe, just maybe, she'd come around. And maybe, everything wasn't lost. He might feel like nothing, but he could spend the rest of days, no matter how few they were, trying to be _something_. He owed it to them, didn't he? If they were willing to let him back in, he'd be damned if he didn't take the opportunity to change. He might not be the hero and he might not be the brains, but he would sure as hell not be the sod that left them. He'd be the one that came back and fought for them, no matter the cost.

Ron took a deep breath, pulled himself off the ground, and apologized. He didn't expect to be forgiven, but as Harry embraced him a moment later for what may very well have been the first time, he thought for the first time in a long time that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out alright.

_Two._

His whole body hurt, his voice was hoarse, and he was certain his eyes were bloodshot, but Ron refused to stop pacing. Fleur had shooed him out of the room without a word, and he simply would not leave until he knew Hermione was going to be okay. She _had_ to be okay. She had still been breathing when he'd handed her off to his sister-in-law, even if just barely. Her screams played over and over in his head, like a broken record he'd do anything to stop. If he was faced with the fact that he'd almost lost her one more time, he'd break down, and he simply couldn't do that—he needed to be strong. For her.

"Ron." Bill's tense voice broke through the cacophony in Ron's head. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Ron shook his head tersely. "I already told you what I can."

"She was tortured."

Ron looked sharply at his brother. "No fucking shit," he spat angrily.

Bill let out a huge sigh. "All I'm saying is that I think it's about time the three of you got some help from the Order."

Ron shook his head again. "We can't."

"Damn it Ron, I'm serious. Nobody wants to lose any of you, but we almost did tonight," Bill snapped.

"Don't you think I realize that?" Ron said fiercely, only refraining from shouting so as not to disturb Fleur and Hermione. "Look, I can't tell you, and it's not my place anyway. Go pester Harry if that's all you're after, because I don't have time for this, you know why? Because _she's_ in there, a fucking inch away from death, and I'm out here unable to do a thing about it. And you know what else? I can't get the screaming out of my head, and I don't need your bloody lecture on top of that. What if it was Fleur, Bill? Would you not want me to leave you the fuck alone? That's all I want. Leave. Me. Alone." He choked back a sob as he finished his speech, using one of his hands to bat madly at his eyes, which were dangerously filling with tears.

Bill gave him a hard look, and after a moment, placed a hand delicately on his shoulder. "My baby brother, grown up and in love. Just wish I didn't have to find out like this." With that, he squeezed Ron's shoulder and left the hallway. Ron sank down to the ground. The tears were really coming now. He sniffed loudly and buried his head in his knees.

A few minutes later, he heard the bedroom door open and sprung up. Fleur smiled softly. "She was in bad shape, but she'll be alright. She was awake for a short time and seemed to be all there mentally, which is very good. I gave her pain potion and sleeping draught, so she'll be out for a few hours. You can see her if you like."

Ron breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said briefly, accepting a hug from his sister-in-law before stepping past her to enter the room. He took a seat on the chair beside Hermione's bed, and covered her hand with one of his own.

She was resting peacefully, thankfully. Ron could see her chest moving steadily up and down, and this comforted him immensely. But she looked so incredibly small, and that was what bothered him most. She was larger than life. She was a force of nature. She was _everything_. And he'd almost lost her. The world had almost lost her, and Ron couldn't imagine a world without Hermione Granger in it.

He couldn't help it—the sobs came back as he thought about what could have been and gave thanks for what was. He wasn't sure if he was crying because he was sad or angry or relieved or what, but he couldn't stop. He cried every tear that was in his body, and it still didn't seem like enough. He didn't stop until Bill came back, informing him of Dobby's death and Harry's determination to dig a grave. So that was it—Ron's breakdown needed to be over. It was time to be strong again. And he could do just that. After all, she was okay. He was okay. Harry was okay. And sometimes, okay is all you can ask for.

_Three._

In the hours that had passed since the battle, he and Hermione had taken several walks around the grounds. Not those kinds of walks, just holding hands and chatting—but Ron reckoned these walks were what was keeping him sane. They talked a bit about what had happened, yeah, but mostly they'd just wandered around and talked about whatever came to their minds. Ron could almost pretend they were two normal teenagers taking a stroll, rather than two soldiers who had no idea what normal was anymore.

On one walk, though, they'd run out of things to distract themselves from what really needed to be discussed. So, they found a spot on the grounds without anyone else or any debris, and they sat in silence, watching the sun set on the distant horizon. But soon, there came the point when even silence was too much to bear.

"They're gone," Ron said in an emotionless voice. Hermione's eyes snapped toward his face. "No point pretending. They're gone and they're not coming back, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Her hand found his. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head violently. "Don't be. It's not like you killed them."

Hermione was silent, but Ron could feel her piercing gaze.

"Why's everything got to be so fucked up?" he continued angrily. "One sick bastard gets power hungry and all these lives are just ruined. It's not fair." He picked up a nearby rock and chucked it as far as he could, attempting to release his pent-up rage. It didn't work.

"No, it's not," Hermione said quietly. Her thumb was brushing the back of his hand. It felt nice.

"I just want my brother back," Ron confessed, choking on the last two words. "I'd choose the Resurrection Stone now, you know. Not that bloody wand."

"It wouldn't be any good, though," Hermione said reasonably.

"No, but at least I could say goodbye," Ron replied, wiping furiously at his eyes with the hand that wasn't holding Hermione's. "That's the worst of it. No time for goodbyes. One stupid spell, and they're all just gone."

That was it. He was sobbing now. In the back of his mind he realized this was the first time Hermione had really seen him cry. He'd teared up a bit at Dumbledore's funeral, but she hadn't really _seen_ him. Even right after Fred had—_gone,_ he hadn't cried. He'd screamed and shouted and kicked things, but he hadn't cried. But now, nearly two days later, he finally was.

He felt Hermione move closer and rest her head on his shoulder. It was only when he felt a wet spot on the collar of his shirt that he realized she was crying too. They stayed there until the sky was completely dark, holding each other and mourning what they'd lost. Maybe it would take awhile, Ron thought later, but eventually, perhaps they'd have the strength to celebrate what they'd won.

_Four._

The funeral was everything Fred would have hated rolled up into one heartbreaking package. The long speeches, the black outfits, hell, even the slow music. Ron sat in the front row with the rest of his family, but he'd rather be in the back. He didn't want such a clear view of this disgustingly tragic scene.

Hermione sat next to him, holding his hand as she had all week. She had seemed a little uncomfortable when he'd asked her to sit up front with him, but she'd done it. For him. And he'd fallen a little more in love with her, if that was even possible.

Ron wished they hadn't even had a funeral. This was all wrong. Everyone was telling them they were sorry and that they were thinking about him and that things would get better in time, but he didn't really care. What good was it to say that time would heal the wounds when he felt like he was bleeding right now?

Nevertheless, he somehow managed to hold himself together during the service. The whole thing felt surreal and wrong, so if he tried hard enough, he could pretend it wasn't happening. But then the service ended, and it was time for the burial. That was when it all went to hell.

When they were sitting still and listening to that stupid little wizard that showed up for every fucking ceremony any of them were ever part of, none of it seemed real. But putting the coffin, putting _Fred_ in the ground forever, that felt more real than anything ever had. After putting their hands on the box one last time, the presiding wizard began to lower it into the ground. All Ron could hear was his family's sobbing, and he couldn't watch any of it anymore. He buried his head into Hermione's shoulder and cried. He could feel her hand rubbing his back, but it provided only a little comfort. Everything was wrong, and it wasn't enough to say that it would get less wrong in time, because the truth was that it was never going to be right again.

_Five._

"NO!" Ron sat up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. The Malfoy Manor and the Battle of Hogwarts had haunted his dreams for months, and tonight was no exception. His heart raced and his breathing was heavy. He couldn't see anything but his brother's lifeless eyes. He couldn't hear anything but Hermione's screams.

"Ron," he heard a small voice to his left, and felt a warm hand on his arm. He turned and saw Hermione, alive and well and decidedly not screaming. He pulled her into him, hard, and began to sob openly into her hair.

"You're alright," he choked a few minutes later, still holding her close.

"Yeah, I'm alright," she repeated, stroking his hair comfortingly. "Right here."

"Same dream," he managed to say. "I want the potion."

"You've already taken more this week than the healer said to," she reminded him.

"I don't care," he said, his voice hoarse. He could still feel tears dripping out of his eyes. "I can't do it, Hermione. I can't listen to her torture you, and I can't watch him die again. It was bad enough the first time. I can't do it every night."

Hermione sniffed loudly and tightened her embrace. "Oh, Ron," she whispered. "I love you. I love you so much."

"It's supposed to be over," he choked.

"I know, I know," Hermione said soothingly. "But the worst is."

Ron nodded, though he knew she couldn't see him. He rubbed her back as he collected himself. He knew that though tonight had been his nightmare, she needed comfort as much as he did.

"I love you too," he said once the tears had stopped. "Couldn't do any of this without you."

"We'll do it together," she replied simply. A few minutes later, they drifted off into sleep once more. This time, with some luck, they managed to sleep through the night.

_Six._

He wasn't even sure what had brought it on this time. It was a perfectly ordinary day. Mum had made eggs for breakfast. He'd gone to the shop for awhile to help George stock the shelves. At lunch, he and Harry had gone to Hogwarts to visit with Hermione and Ginny, who were helping McGonagall with the last of the clean-up efforts before the scheduled reopening in September. Then, he'd spent the afternoon with his dad, working on the silly but brilliant muggle contraptions that still littered their shed. But for some reason, after dinner, dark thoughts had found their way into his brain, and now he was crying. Again. He was so fucking sick of crying. It made him feel helpless and weak, and he hated it.

When she found him, he was sitting on his bed alone, face in his hands. She sat behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. She didn't ask him what was wrong, and she didn't demand that he talk about it. She just sat there and let him break down. But he knew she was there, and that was what made the difference.

"Sorry. Didn't know I'd be such a mess tonight," he said after an indeterminably long amount of time, once he'd finally regained some control.

"What happened?" she asked softly, scooting around so that she was sitting next to him.

"Nothing," he answered. She gave him a skeptical look. "Honest. I'm not sure what got me started, but you think about one thing and suddenly you're realizing how much went to hell and then you can't stop."

"Not everything's bad," she reminded him, leaning into his side. "It just takes a minute to remember the good sometimes."

"Exactly," he agreed, wondering when it was that they'd begun to understand each other so well. He reckoned it must've been around the time they took on the world together and lived to tell about it. "I'm just waiting for the day that the good's enough to make me forget the bad," he admitted. Neither of them said it, but both of them knew, that he was waiting for a day that would never come.

_Seven._

1998 was almost over, and he couldn't be more relieved. The whole family and many of their friends were inside, celebrating, but Ron had found his way outside. He needed to clear his head a bit.

It had been a year of extremes. It was the year he'd lost his brother, but it was also the year he'd kissed Hermione. It was the year little Teddy had become an orphan, but it was also the year they'd won a war. There didn't seem to be a middle ground, and that was the most frustrating thing about it. It was as if the whole year had been one mood swing after another. Ron briefly wondered if this was what it was like to be a girl, but he quickly squashed that thought after considering what Hermione's reaction would be.

Though he wasn't particularly sad or angry, Ron could feel wetness beginning to pool in his eyes. He didn't even try to stop it anymore. It was easier to let it all out, and no one was watching. He was fairly certain he wasn't about to start sobbing, anyway.

Life was going on, as it always seemed to do. He and Harry were starting their official Auror training in just a few days. Hermione and Ginny were about to begin her final term at Hogwarts. Dad had been promoted to a new position with a considerable pay raise. Mum was going to take up gardening again in the spring. George had hired a new assistant, and business was booming. Charlie had moved back to Romania for good, but not before promising more frequent visits. Bill and Fleur were talking about starting a family. Percy had moved closer to home. They'd all forgiven him, but he wasn't done making amends. Ron knew that feeling all too well.

But Fred—Fred was stuck. He'd never experience 1999, or any year after it. Neither would Lupin or Tonks or Colin Creevey or Mad-Eye or anyone else they'd lost. And the things that had happened this year would never be truly gone, even if the date changed. Everyone might be trying to keep moving, but occasionally something from the past would sneak in and stop the chains for awhile. That was just something they'd have to get used to. But they'd all be okay. If they could survive the world falling apart, surely they could survive the process of putting it back together.

"Ron? It's freezing out here," Hermione's voice was a welcome interruption to his thoughts as she joined him on the doorstep. "You should come in," she said, touching his arm lightly. "It's only a minute til midnight."

Ron shook his head, wiping the remnants of tears from his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm, and because he could now. Whenever he wanted, even. "It's nicer out here. Quiet. I can actually hear myself think."

"Everything alright?" she asked, bringing her hands to his lower back.

"Will be," he answered simply. They were quiet for a moment, and they could hear George beginning the countdown to the new year. Only twenty seconds left.

"1999. Here's to hope," Hermione said softly.

Ron smiled. The countdown was getting louder. Ten seconds now. "Here's to a normal year."

"Normal as it gets with us, anyway," she replied, mirroring his smile.

The countdown finished, and Ron kissed her. Even better, she kissed him back. The toughest year of their lives was over, and they were ready to face the future together. They would be okay.

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A/N: I wrote this in the span of a few hours while listening to the same few songs on repeat. These are a couple of lines I drew on that I wanted to share:

_"It's not enough to say that time can mend my wings, that one day I'll fly. And it's not enough, this acheless scar. Some wounds are still burning, let me live as one earning his life." –A Phoenix Lament, by Ministry of Magic_

_"Each letter sent I have found in the pages of hope for the days when I feel like I've lost everything." –The Last Something That Meant Anything, by Mayday Parade_

These are just a few of many, but I thought they were the most relevant. The first quote is from a beautiful wizard rock song, so definitely check it out if you're into that kind of music.

Thanks so much for reading, and if you want to take a moment to let me know what you thought that would be lovely. :)


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